


Quickie

by Spoon888



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Gladiators, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-War, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25802881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoon888/pseuds/Spoon888
Summary: Megatron has five minutes before he's called back to the Pit.
Relationships: Megatron/Starscream (Transformers)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 247





	Quickie

**Author's Note:**

> If this fic feels familiar, it's because I'm finally cross posting it here from tumblr.

Megatron slayed the alien challenger with one swoop of his sword, liquid and sure, moving with a deftness Starscream had only ever witnessed in the finest of Vosian sky dancers. The stadium rose with a roar, a dull hum running through Starscream’s audials. Megatron surveyed his crowd until smouldering optics fell to the winged figure he had been searching for.

Starscream knew that look.

He shot to his thrusters, tripping over both himself and the stamping pedes of the hollering audience, heading for the tunnel as fast as he could. Out of his peripheral he could see Megatron making his own languid progress, schmoozing the fawning crowds as he went, kissing dainty servos and grasping strong forearms. Everyone wanted a piece of Kaon’s finest gladiator, and Megatron was arrogant enough to indulge them.

By the time Starscream swung himself over the barriers, out of the stands and into the tunnel entrance into the fighting pit, Megatron was charming his last fan, clever lips curved with a smirk, brushing the audial of some wannabe cheerleader.

Starscream sunk into the shadows, away from the bright lights of the arena, watching Megatron part with them smoothly, hefting the sword dripping with green alien blood over his shoulder.

"Trying to make me jealous?“ he called. Despite the noise in the arena, the acoustics in the tunnel carried his voice.

Megatron zeroed in on his dark corner, sure and confident. “Now Starscream, you know it takes more than a pretty face to turn my head.”

“And often far less,” Starscream groused, walking back against the wall, letting Megatron trap him. 

His gladiator reaked of grease and oil, scorched and bloodied. It filled Starscream’s olfactory and sent his spark into somersaults. He used one clawed digit to keep Megatron at bay, surveying him from lecherous smirk all the way down to muddied pedes.

“They’ll be calling me,” Megatron reminded him, large head tipping to gesture back to the blinding brightness of the tunnel exit where still the crowds were chanting his name. He bullied his way closer, ignoring the scrape of claws on his chest. “A token for luck?”

Starscream snorted, “You don’t need luck,” but tilted his chin up to receive Megatron’s mouth.

Megatron may charm like the high-caste, with his poetry and flattery, but he still kissed like a dirt dwelling pit-mech, rough and unrefined and overwhelming, nose squashed against the high arch of Starscream’s cheek. Glossa pushed into Starscream's mouth and he tasted the fuel Megatron had drunk, an overpowering Tarnish blend. There was a clang as the sword hit the floor, Megatron taking a wing and a hip and using both to keep him, a strong thumb pressing and smoothing over a seam at his hip. It soon became apparent Megatron was after more than just a _kiss_ good luck.

“You’re digusting,” Starscream broke free to snarl, but angled his leg aside to push his crotch into Megatron’s waiting palm. “Covered in filth, trying to have your way with me here-”

Megatron dragged his digits over his panel, tracing the seams and smearing beads of lubricant gathering there. “You’re the one who wants it.”

Glaring, Starscream released his panel, slapping Megatron away and turning around before dry battle-worn digits were shoved into him without ceremony. He leant against the wall and angled his hips back, thighs apart, so Megatron could press close and rock himself against him. His spike was out and hard, and Starscream released a shuddering breath against the rusty wall when he felt it’s length grow and pressurise where Megatron had slotted it between his thighs, rubbing it between folds of softened mesh.

In the arena a horn blared, signalling the end of the match.

Realising he was going to be recalled as soon as they’d cleared the pit of shrapnel, and unwilling to fight his next battle with his pressurised spike stuffed behind his panel, Megatron forewent all foreplay, bending Starscream further forward and pushing his way inside.

Megatron was broad and thick, a brutally delightful stretch for Starscream’s mesh and calipers. He howled in sharp surprise, hoarse voice bouncing back at him in the tunnel, the pitch matching the hasty scrape and clang of Megatron’s hips against his aft.

He gripped the wall for purchase as he was driven into hastily, Megatron’s spike jabbing jolts of pleasure that shot up and down his back strut and pools in his tanks.

He curved his back as best he could, and deciding that was as good as any invitation, Megatron seized his wings, one in each servo, slamming him back into each punishing thrust with a sharp yank. Starscream was helpless to them, scrabbling futility at the wall and doing everything he could to keep his shaking legs under him.

There was another horn blare, loud and demanding, and with a hissing snarl, Megatron chased his overload, deep and fast and utterly devastating.

“ _ **Megatron**_!” Starscream cried, coolant leaking into the channels under his optics. It was fierce and harsh and everything expected of a gladiator. Everything he needed.

But didn’t get.

Starscream felt Megatron’s overload as the sudden surge of heat at his back, the swell of pressure in his valve, the harsh noise in his audial as Megatron finished.

Megatron took barely a moment to rest before pulling out, hastily re-adjusting himself and making a mad scramble for his sword.

Empty and used, Starscream slumped against the wall, weak but desperate.

“Wait!” He called, watching Megatron rush down the tunnel, plating barely back in place. “I didn’t finish!”

“Later!” Megatron bellowed back, twisting to step backwards into the arena lights, and throwing up his arms. The crowd went wild.

Starscream dropped back against the wall with his arms folded. _Later_? Like that selfish thug was going to be lucky enough to _get_ a later.


End file.
